INTRO

10.1 EXT: WINTERFELL GODSWOOD – DAY

BRAN stands before his father, the lines of NED STARK’s face beginning to waver and blur as BRAN’s eyes fill with tears.

NED sets his great-sword aside, holding his arms outstretched to his son. BRAN runs to him.

S.E: Bran embracing Ned.

NED holds BRAN at arm’s length and looks him over.

NED

I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there to see you grow up. But you need to know: I might not have been there in body, Bran, but me and your mother, your brothers…we’ve been with you every day. Every choice you’ve made, every decision, we were right there beside you, whether it seemed like it or not. And we’re so proud of you, son. I’m so proud of you.

10.2 INT: TUNNELS BENEATH THE RED KEEP – DAY

The MOUNTAIN and the HOUND have reverted to childhood, descending into the most basic mode of battle, the two brothers wailing on each other with naked fists. The HOUND feels his jaw crack beneath the MOUNTAIN’s blows; he stumbles, staggers, and falls. The MOUNTAIN retrieves his sword from the dirt and closes on his brother, swinging wildly. The HOUND ducks and weaves away from the MOUNTAIN’s blade but can’t avoid his clubbing fist. He staggers backwards into the cavern, and into his own personal hell: flames whip and crack at him from every direction; the air scalds his lungs; the fires singe his hair; the heat blisters and burns his skin. The HOUND recoils in terror, propelling himself away from the flames and straight onto the end of his brother’s sword.

The MOUNTAIN retracts his blade and the HOUND drops to the floor. Tossing the sword aside, the MOUNTAIN picks his brother up by the throat and slams him into the cavern wall. Clamping his paw-like hands around the HOUND’s skull, the MOUNTAIN begins to squeeze…

10.3 INT: KING’S LANDING INN – DAY

The window of the inn shatters and a hundred pairs of arms snake around the bars, the frame fast filling with wights clawing and clambering over and around one another to try and get inside. The undead pound at the door, wailing in anger and frustration, the wood groaning ominously under the strain. PODRICK and TORMUND brace the door with their backs; BERIC and GENDRY overturn a wooden table and cover the window, leaning with all their bodyweight against the undead press.

10.4 INT: QYBURN’S LABORATORY – DAY 

S.E: door creaks open.

JAIME tentatively steps into the room. On overcrowded shelves a multitude of body parts – animal, human, unidentifiable – float in jars of variously-coloured fluids. Flies buzz around big wooden crates filled with rotting meat and the bones of all manner of bird and beast. JAIME gags as he comes across a row of human arms, each severed at the elbow. The first belongs to the wight brought by JON and company to the Dragonpit summit. The second and third to ARCHMAYSTER EBROSE. Into the stumps feed a series of clear tubes connected to a large vat, pumping a green liquid in and through and out of the arms. As JAIME inspects the hands, the closest set of fingers spasm. JAIME begins to turn away, but does a double-take at the sight of two more hands similarly prepared. By their size, it’s clear these hands belonged to a child. QYBURN sits perched on a stool on the far side of a large surgical table that occupies the centre of the room.

QYBURN

I tried for so many years, feeling around blindly in the darkness, searching desperately for the light of discovery…if I’d only know that the darkness was where the answers lay all along.

As he talks, JAIME begins to sidle around the table, closing the space between him and QYBURN. He stops short as the filthy sheet that covers the table twitches.

QYBURN [CONT’D]

There was only so much I could achieve via scientific methods. Ser Gregor was a breakthrough, it’s true, but I found myself unable to replicate my success. Only a subject of Ser Gregor’s singular constitution could withstand the process, you see. And then came that day in the Dragonpit…

QYBURN follows JAIME’s gaze to the sheet.

QYBURN [CONT’D]

Ah, yes. A gift, for Her Grace.

JAIME peels back the sheet. The half-rotten face of PRINCESS MYRCELLA stares up at him. JAIME reels back into a cabinet of vials and beakers; a shower of smashed and shattered glass clatter and tinkle to the floor around him.

QYBURN [CONT’D]

I did try with King Joffrey, truly I did. But, alas, the poison that killed him corrupted his insides beyond salvage. As for King Tommen, well, when one jumps from the highest window of the Red Keep, there really isn’t too much left with which to work, I’m sorry to say. Is it magic? Some branch of the sciences we have yet to fully comprehend? They do say the two are indistinguishable to the untrained eye.  

MYRCELLA turns her head toward JAIME. He stares into a pair of ice-blue eyes. JAIME runs a hand over MYRCELLA’s cheek. With a look of grim resignation, he draws his dirk and pushes it as gently as possible through her ear cavity into her skull. He covers her again with the sheet, then turns to confront QYBURN.

S.E: Jaime draws his sword.

The disgraced maester looks at the sword in surprise.

QYBURN [CONT’D]

Oh. I’m afraid not.

A dozen little street urchins scuttle from some undiscovered room and surround QYBURN. They stare at JAIME with the same dead blue eyes as his daughter.

QYBURN [CONT’D]

I couldn’t possibly leave my little birds.

JAIME pushes over one of the large vats, spilling it contents over the floor, and snatches up the nearest lamp.

JAIME

As you like.

He smashes it down to explode off the stone and the spilled liquid immediately ignites. JAIME hurries to the exit as the fire greedily devours the contents of the laboratory, QYBURN fussing over his little birds standing serenely amid the flames.

10.5 INT: TUNNELS BENEATH THE RED KEEP – DAY

ARYA hangs by her satchel, the strap snagged on the craggy lip of the promontory. Already she can feel the bag beginning to tear, the seams popping under the strain of supporting her entire weight. All that separates salvation above from certain death below is burlap and stitching.  

The HOUND screams in pain. Blood trickles from his ears; the whites of his eyes turn red and their capillaries pop. He beats at the MOUNTAIN’s arms, but finds his brother’s grip unbreakable as iron. With a roar of desperate rage, the HOUND shoves his thumbs into the MOUNTAIN’s eye sockets and pushes in until black ooze pours over his hands. Finally, the MOUNTAIN breaks his grip and staggers back, clutching at his face. Without the MOUNTAIN holding him up, the HOUND immediately crumples to the ground.

ARYA places hand over hand, using the unwound fabric of her satchel as a rope to pull herself up. She reaches, stretches, her fingertips grazing the edge of the platform. The satchel’s pouch rips along its seam.

S.E: tearing fabric.

ARYA stops with a jolt. The torn fabric she clings to immediately begins to pull away from the strap, just two lines of stitching keeping ARYA aloft now. The contents of the satchel spills into the air: a dozen different faces follow the MOUNTAIN’s helmet into the Blackwater, ARYA barely registering GREY WORM’s eyeless aspect as it drifts down past her own. 

The HOUND searches the ground for a rock, a piece of wood, anything at all he can use to keep the MOUNTAIN at bay. That’s when he sees it: his sword, not more than five feet away…and surrounded by fire. The HOUND wavers, but one quick glance at his brother settles his mind: the MOUNTAIN is already closing in, clawing the air, reaching blindly for his brother. The HOUND shoves his hand through the flames. He screams; the flesh of his forearm bubbles and bursts; his hand crackles like frying bacon; his palm melts around the white-hot hilt. Just as the MOUNTAIN’s shadow falls over him, the HOUND stands, spins, and swings the sword.

S.E: the Mountain’s decapitated head bouncing off ground.

The HOUND throws down the sword and cradles his burned arm to his chest. Whimpering in pain, he collapses to the ground beside the decapitated body of his brother.

10.6 EXT: SKIES ABOVE KING’S LANDING – DAY

DAENERYS flies Drogon beyond the Red Keep. In the distance, Viserion circles the city, searching. DAENERYS smiles to herself as the dragon breaks its flightpath: they’ve been spotted, and now it’s the NIGHT KING’s turn to give chase. DAENERYS waits until Viserion comes within calling distance before she finally directs Drogon to beat an unhurried retreat.

Squinting through the snow, DAENERYS can just make out the line of six stone arches that demarcates the ruins of the Dragonpit. She angles Drogon into a sharp descent, levelling him out barely fifty feet above the ground. The pristine white carpet rushes past below. As Drogon gobbles up the distance before the Dragonpit’s arches, DAENERYS checks quickly over her shoulder and confirms that the NIGHT KING has followed their flightpath and still dogs their tail.

DAENERYS

Slow, slow…

Viserion bites over and again at Drogon’s tail but misses each time, every mouthful of air spurring him to a greater fury. The NIGHT KING’s attention is focused entirely on the prey only barely beyond his reach, but DAENERYS’ is concentrated on the looming arches and the segment of snow-covered ceiling they still support. She makes no effort to swerve away and instead aims Drogon directly for the nearest archway. DAENERYS runs her hand down Drogon’s neck. He recognises immediately the oft-drilled instruction and pins his wings tight to his body, making himself as narrow as possible. One more quick glance over her shoulder reaffirms for DAENERYS that Viserion has done likewise,

DAENERYS

Ready…

Drogon enters the shadow of the archway, the twin stone columns almost close enough to touch.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Ready…Seer!

Drogon shoots out both his wings to full extension. They scythe through the columns like a knife through warm butter. NIGHT KING doesn’t even have time to brace himself. Twenty tonnes of stone and marble bury dragon and rider both.  

10.7 INT: KING’S LANDING INN – DAY

BERIC and GENDRY strain to hold the table in place over the window, but the constant pressure from the other side has quickly exhausted whatever reserves of strength they had left. They begin to wilt under the weight, their legs threatening to betray them and buckle. The door begins to give way, the wood splitting and splintering around PODRICK and TORMUND. The planks fracture along their join and grasping hands reach through the wood to snatch and claw for purchase. BERIC and GENDRY lock eyes across the room. Strangely calm, BERIC smiles at the younger man.

BERIC

Ready lad?

GENDRY nods with resignation. PODRICK does likewise. TORMUND is not sharing in the moment.

TORMUND

No, I’m not fucking ready!

BERIC

One…

TORMUND

I said fucking “no”!

BERIC

…two…three!

All four men dive forward and snatch up their weapons and ready themselves for their last, hopeless, heroic stand. The door shatters in its frame. The undead pour into the room like sand through an hourglass. TORMUND, PODRICK, BERIC, and GENDRY back up until they feel the wall at their backs, nowhere left to run. They brandish their weapons and

10.8 EXT: WINTERFELL GODSWOOD – DAY / EXT: RUINS OF THE RED KEEP THRONE ROOM - DAY

BRAN wipes the tears from his eyes. NED and CATELYN share a private smile.

BRAN

I promised Theon, if I ever saw you…  

NED

I know. He was a good man who lost his way. But he found it again when it really mattered.

BRAN

He gave his life to save mine, and if he sees me here…I don’t want him to think he failed me, failed you.

THEON

Don’t worry, Bran.

BRAN turns and discovers THEON standing beside CATELYN, smiling.

THEON[CONT’D]

I didn’t fail.

BRAN

But the Night King’s sword…how can I…?

BRAN lifts his shirt: the corruption has spread, and now his entire midsection has turned black. He looks to NED in confusion.

NED

We’re all of us more than the face that stares back at us in the mirror, Bran.

BRAN looks back over his shoulder: all his loved ones have gathered together: MAESTER LUWIN, HODOR, OSHA, ROBB, RICKON, and CATELYN. Summer wrestles and rolls about on the lush green grass with Lady, Shaggy Dog, and Grey Wind. BRAN’s searches for one more face.

BRAN

Is Jon here?

NED

What makes you ask that?

BRAN

I made a mistake. If I hadn’t sent him into an ambush…I was just trying to help, to find answers to the Night King, but…I kept ending up in the wrong places at the wrong times.

JON

If I’m really the answer to some ancient prophecy, some great destiny…then everything that’s happened, everything I’ve done, I had no hand in any of it…it was always going to happen?

MELISANDRE

No. Never always, always…perhaps. Every moment contains within it the potential for infinite others. Nothing is fated; everything is possible.

RICKON

If Jaime Lannister had never pushed you from that tower, you would never have travelled north, never become the Three-Eyed Raven, never have the visions that sent Jon and Daenerys beyond the Wall.

MELISANDRE

If your father had remained true to his wife Elia, if Eddard Stark had left you to die beside your mother in her birthing bed, if his secret was betrayed to King Robert and your family name condemned you to the same brutal death as Rhaegar’s other children…

ROBB

If the Mad King had never condemned his own people to the fires, there’d have been no need for his children to flee into exile, his daughter would never receive three dragon eggs on her wedding day, never lose a dragon to the Night King and never leave Jon to die.

MELISANDRE

If you had deserted the Night’s Watch when they took Ned Stark’s head, or turned your cloak and joined the Free Folk, if you’d ducked left instead of dodging right and died on the point of some anonymous Bolton soldier’s blade…then your promise withers on the vine, uncalled upon and unrealised. You are the Prince That Was Promised, yes, but only a child confuses a promise with a guarantee.

NED

There are no wrong places, Bran, no wrong times. Only good choices and bad, and where they lead you next.

BRAN

To Jon, to the Iron Throne, to Daenerys and her dragons. Everything that’s happened, all this time…that’s where it was all leading?

JON

If this was always about Daenerys and her dragons, why did so many have to suffer and die along the way? I lost good friends – brothers – at the Fist of the First Men, at Hardhome…

MELISANDRE

You do them a disservice, Jon Snow. They were not bit-part players in the Dragon Queen’s story, or your own, they were the hero of their own story. Theirs was no less important simply because it ended sooner.

ROBB

There’s more to the story than Kings and Queens alone, Bran.

NED

Every line on the page, even if it might seem unimportant in the moment, it all matters - we all matter - to how the story ends.

MELISANDRE

Each life is like a fine thread, stitched together into an ever-unfurling tapestry. No one thread there at the beginning is ever there at the end: sooner or later the spool spins empty, but the tapestry itself continues. 

BRAN

And this is the end?

NED [SMILING ENIGMATICALLY]

One of them, aye…

10.9 EXT: DRAGONPIT – DAY

DAENERYS brings Drogon down to land beside the steep slope of debris that fills the Dragonpit.

Viserion has somehow pulled himself clear of the rubble, but lost a wing in the process. Drogon lashes out…

S.E: Drogon clamping teeth around Viserion’s neck.

…and wrenches Viserion’s head clean off his body.

Drogon spits out his prize, presenting it at DAENERYS’ feet. She steps around the decapitated head without looking at it and circles the mountain of rubble, then begins to climb.

She heaves aside a pair of modest boulders and the resultant rockslide reveals what she’s looking for. The NIGHT KING lies pinioned on his back, one arm trapped between two slabs and his bottom half all-but liquified beneath an enormous marble plinth. DAENERYS is in no hurry. She crouches down. He swipes at her with his free arm, but she avoids it effortlessly.

DAENERYS studies the NIGHT KING, watches her reflection in the deep, dark pools of blue that regard her with frozen indifference even now. Already the snow is beginning to reclaim the remains of the Dragon Pit, a layer of fine white powder settling over the scene. The NIGHT KING ceases his flailing and lies still, returning her gaze. A thousand snowflakes flutter down through their shared field of vision in the time they spend simply staring into one another’s eyes.

The NIGHT KING’s attention drifts drift beyond DAENERYS as the shadow of Drogon descends them both into darkness. In his very last moment, the NIGHT KING’s face has betrayed some small sliver of expression: it almost looks like relief.

Drogon needs no command: he rears back, bares his teeth, and bathes the NIGHT KING in dragonfire.

10.10 INT: KING’S LANDING INN – DAY

TORMUND, PODRICK, BERIC, and GENDRY raise their weapons and lunge at the front lines of the undead…then stop. Like a row of dominoes, the foremost ranks of wights topples over into the next, and they into the next, and they the next. The horde of undead crowding outside the inn topples too, wights collapsing into and over and on top of one another to form a pile of bodies half as high as the roof of the inn. PODRICK slumps to the ground, exhausted. TORMUND lifts GENDRY off his feet into a bearhug. BERIC drops to his knees and whispers a silent prayer.

S.E: trumpeting elephant.

TORMUND’s elephant lumbers out from between two buildings and into the open space once occupied by the Great Sept of Baelor.

TORMUND (GLEEFULLY)

She made it!

10.11 INT: TUNNELS BENEATH THE RED KEEP – DAY

The HOUND sits propped against the rock at the cavern’s edge, both hands held tightly across his belly to keep his innards from escaping. The fire rages inside the cavern, black smoke billowing out and up into the sky. At the end of the promontory, a taught strip of burlap sends up a fine plume of dust as it grinds down the surface of the rock its wrapped around. The fabric jitters and vibrates under the tension: hauls herself up and over the ledge. She lies panting on her back, her exhausted arms limp at her side. She rolls to her knees, staggers up to her feet, and retrieves Needle from the dirt. Feeling her shadow fall across him, the HOUND cracks open his eyes and moves his hands aside to show her his mortal wound. Neither offers any comment; none is needed.

HOUND [BITTERLY AMUSED]

I’ve come all this way, and I end up in the same fucking place…

ARYA

Not exactly the same.

HOUND

Looks like you’re going to last longer than me after all.

ARYA studies the HOUND, reading every last detail of his face just as she was trained to.

ARYA

Was it worth it?

HOUND

I’m holding my guts in with my hands, so right this second I’d say “’no, of course it wasn’t fucking worth it.”

He looks over at the MOUNTAIN’s body a few feet away, and then at his head, a few feet further. The HOUND grins.

HOUND [CONT’D]

But weighed against thirty years of hate…aye, it was worth it.

ARYA remains impassive. She raises Needle.

ARYA

Are you ready?

The HOUND looks out over the promontory to the water beyond. He follows the snow as it falls, holds out a hand to feel it melt on the burned flesh of his palm. Finally, he leans back and rests his head against the rock.

HOUND

Another name off your list. Aye, I’m re -

S.E: Arya strikes.

ARYA gives him the mercy she once refused him. True to her word, she shoves her sword through the HOUND’s eye and out the back of his skull.

10.12 EXT: RED KEEP GODSWOOD – DAY

JAIME emerges from the tunnels, but finds navigating the castle in the old way impossible: great stone blocks stand in place of staircases, trails of debris delineate the collapsed walls of the royal chambers, piles of rubble recall the corridors that connected them.

JAIME is forced to circle around the ruins to find a point of entry. He passes through the gardens, glancing without recognition at the overturned chairs and white wooden trellis of the morning’s abandoned ceremony.

Entering the Godswood, JAIME unconsciously slows his steps in deference to the eerie, undisturbed sense of hermetic calm cast by the ancient trees and their snow-covered canopy.

S.E: Jaime clambering over rubble into the castle proper.

JAIME takes in the blasted interior of the castle. The cliff-facing wall is entirely gone, the surviving interior already several feet deep in snow.

S.E: crashing stone, Jaime diving from its path.

JAIME just barely has time to escape the path of the collapsing third floor ceiling and the two lower floors it brings down with it.

S.E: Jaime clambering over rubble

Clambering through stacks of rock, squeezing between slabs of stone, stepping over kindling of shattered furniture, JAIME finally finds his sister, standing at the centre of what was once the Great Hall, just within the shadow of the teetering northern tower. He watches her for a long moment as she stares out over the city, hugging herself against the cold, the wind tussling the hair that shines the same golden blonde as his own. He realises she must have been standing here for some time: a dusting of snow covers her shoulders. When he takes a step and announces himself, CERSEI turns and the snow flutters free and dances away on the wind.

CERSEI

Thank the Gods you’re alive!

JAIME [UNMOVED]

You sent Bronn to kill me.

CERSEI

I would never do that! You have to believe me! It must have been Qyburn that gave the order.

JAIME

You also told the Mountain to kill me not ten minutes ago. I may be the stupidest Lannister, but even I learn my lessons eventually.

CERSEI

Tyrion turned you against me. That twisted little monsters couldn’t rest until you hated me as much as he does.

JAIME

For once in our lives, you give Tyrion too much credit. You made me hate you all by yourself. You took someone very special from me.

S.E: crumbling stone.

Another section of the castle collapses somewhere on the other side of the central tower.

CERSEI

We came into this world together, Jaime. There can’t be anything more special than that. Nobody knows you like I do. Nobody loves you like I do.

JAIME

You don’t even know what that word means, Cersei.

CERSEI [STARTING TO CRY]

I loved our children. Our beautiful children.

JAIME [GRUDGINGLY]

Yes. You loved our children.

JAIME sighs and throws down his sword. He crosses the floor of white-coated rubble and embraces her. CERSEI sobs against his chest as the Red Keep crumbles all around them.

JAIME [CONT’D]

It’s over, Cersei. It’s all over.

CERSEI

Oh, Jamie, what are we going to do?

JAIME pulls back and looks down into CERSEI’s upturned face.

JAIME

I’m going to do what a Lannister always does. A Lannister always pays his debts.

JAIME wraps his hand around CERSEI’s throat. CERSEI struggles, beats at him with her fists, but JAIME holds his grip. The steady fall of rubble gives way to a great rush of rock that shatters the last load-baring wall of the northern tower. The topmost floors lurch over and plummet down into the castle below. Like a house of cards, one cataclysm precipitates another and soon everything but the central column has collapsed into one great mountainous ruin.

10.13 EXT: RUINS OF THE RED KEEP THRONE ROOM – DAY

The platform rumbles and shakes as it sheds its adjoining architecture, the Red Keep crumbling away to leave the Throne Room a lonely sentry atop its dogged, half-demolished post of singed brick and broken stone.

JON

He could have told us, somehow, could have made his true purpose known…

MELISANDRE

And you’d have listened? Believed? Come, Jon Snow. Even now, when your heart and head together scream the truth of everything I’ve told you, still, you deny the choice you know it’s long-past time you made.

JON

What choice?

MELISANDRE

The choice with which all great men and women are faced, sooner or later: how much are you prepared to give? How far does your sense of duty extend?

JON studies MELISANDRE’s face, then looks beyond her over King’s Landing, the snow-covered city now pockmarked with craters like the surface of an alien moon. JON closes his eyes and feels the wind and snow against his skin.

JON

What do I have to do?

MELISANDRE

Simply return to the Lord of Light that which he leased you.

Understanding slowly creeps across JON’s face.

MELISANDRE [CONT’D]

When the Lord of Light brought you back, he rekindled the fire that has always burned within you. To become what you were always destined to be, you need only let the Lord of Darkness do the same for the ice that burns beside it.

MELISANDRE produces a second blade from the folds of her cloak, this one bearing a blade of ink-black obsidian.

MELISANDRE [CONT’D]

Bare your chest, Jon Snow.

Jon peels back his leathers, his fingertips tracing the scarred half-moon of his brother’s traitorous steel.

MELISANDRE [CONT’D]

This will hurt, Jon Snow.

With a tremorous hand, MELISANDE raises the shard of dragon-glass and rests the point against Jon’s chest.

MELISANDRE [CONT’D]

But only once…and then never again.

MELISANDRE brings up a second hand to stabilise the first, and begins to push…

10.14

BEGIN MONTAGE:

In the tunnels beneath the Red Keep, the fire has died out and the last of the smoke escaped through the collapsed wall overlooking the sea. Both halves of EURON lie where the MOUNTAIN left them.

Further along the tunnel, the MOUNTAIN’s decapitated head lies stares sightlessly back at his body.

A little further again, the HOUND sits propped against the wall where ARYA left him, his face lit by the first tentative light of a gradually brightening sky.

The Black Cells have burned even blacker, soot and ash smearing the walls a filthy streaked midnight. The grotesquely enticing aroma of well-cooked meat fills corridor: the bodies once belonging to ARCHMAESTER EBROSE, and Ellaria and Tyene Sand sizzle and roast in their cells.

The fires in Qyburn’s laboratory burn with green, blue, and purple flames. Every time they threaten to diminish, the blaze finds fresh supply of fuel among QYBURN’s eclectic store of supplies. Glass jars explode; mysterious liquids boil and fizz; and QYBURN burns beside his little birds.

The ruins of the Red Keep stack taller than a man, yet still more pieces of the castle crumble loose of the lone tower and crash into the debris below. As the sun begins to emerge from behind the clouds, its rays catch something glinting amid the rubble: a golden hand protrudes from the wreckage as though reaching to grasp the light, its lustre dulled by the heavy coat of dust and grime that covers it.

The first tentative sprinkling of sunlight finds King’s Landing entirely still, utterly silent. Between the dragons, elephants, and battle between the living and undead, much of the capital has been razed to the ground.

Without disturbing the strange serenity of the snow-covered city, the scene slowly begins to shift. The snowfall begins to lessen, then stops completely. The last of the clouds disperse; the sun rolls back the shadows and begins the work of warming the frozen city.

10.15 INT: TYRION’S CHAMBERS – WHITE HARBOUR – DAY

In his rooms overlooking White Harbour, TYRION draws a chair up to the table and opens the book returned by VARYS. He turns to the piece of parchment bearing MISSANDEI’s translation.

TYRION

“And so she shall come forth, a darkness over the world, borne of an unnatural birth…“

10.16 EXT: RUINS OF THE RED KEEP THRONE ROOM – DAY

Drogon circles the last remaining tower of the Red Keep, then descends and lands deftly on the cold white carpet of the throne room.

TYRION [V.O.]

“This I have seen. And she shall ride upon death, and so become as death herself.”

DAENERYS climbs down from Drogon, steps around a faded red cloak and weathered wooden cane abandoned beneath the final dusting of snowfall, and takes in the scene.

Finally now, here at the end of her life’s journey, DAENERYS TARGARYEN looks upon the Iron Throne for the first time. She allows herself a deep, steadying breath…then begins her approach.

DAENERYS climbs the steps, and arrives within touching distance of her father’s seat.

She stretches out a trembling hand and brushes away the snow from the arm of the throne. She snatches her hand back. Her glove is sliced through. Blood spatters the snow between her feet. Where she cleared the snow, one of the thousand blades of the conquered glints in the open air.

TYRION [V.O.]

“From this same darkness shall come a champion, twice born.”

JON

Dany.

DAENERYS whips about. JON stands beneath Drogon’s wing, cloaked in shadow.

DAENERYS

Jon! You’re alive.

DAENERYS peers into the darkness, straining to discern more than the deeper shadow of JON’s indistinct shape.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

How…how did you -

JON [SUDDEN; ANGRY]

You left me!

Momentarily blanching a step backwards at this sudden flare of anger, DAENERYS recovers her self-assurance and rails back at JON.

DAENERYS

You would have tried to take my throne!

JON

You don’t need to worry about that anymore. I wear a different crown now.

JON steps forward, out from under the shadow of Drogon’s wing

TYRION [V.O.]

“He is the prince that is promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.”

JON’s skin is now the pale blue-white of ice, his eyes two blue supernovas, the crown of his head topped by a pair of stubbed ivory horns poking through his matted hair.

JON has become the NIGHT KING.

10.17 EXT: WINTERFELL GODSWOOD – DAY

CATELYN

There are a million links and one in the chain that tethers the past to the present, Bran, and no one of them is any more or less important than the others. If Bran the Builder had never built the Wall… you wouldn’t be there now when Jon needs you most.

BRAN

Jon needs me?

NED

You have to go now, Bran. You still have one last important part to play.

BRAN

If I leave now…will I…will I ever see you again?

CATELYN wraps her arms around NED and they smile at one another, and at their son.

NED

We’ll be right here waiting for you, when it’s time. But that’s not for a long time yet.

BRAN looks around at his friends and family. He feels the lump in the throat, the sheen of tears over his eyes.

BRAN turns back to his parents, takes a long, lingering look at the faces he knows better than any others in all the world.

BRAN

Alright. I’ll go.

NED steps forward and places a hand on BRAN’s shoulder, the pride he feels written in bold upon his face.

NED

I always knew you would, Bran.

BRAN

What do I have to do?

NED

First, you need to wake -

10.18 INT: BRAN’S CHAMBERS – DAY

SANSA

-king up! Bran?! Quick, fetch help!

BRAN’s eyes shoot open and he takes a deep, painful gasp of air, like a diver breaking the surface.

SANSA [CONT’D]

It’s alright, Bran, I’m here. You’re safe now.

BRAN’s eyelids drop and he lapses back into unconsciousness.

SANSA [CONT’D]

Bran! Bran!

10.19 EXT: RUINS OF THE RED KEEP THRONE ROOM – DAY

DAENERYS stares at JON with horror. She backs away, almost stumbles over the steps to the Iron Throne.

DAENERYS

What have you done?!

JON

Only what I’ve always done: whatever it takes to keep my people safe.

DAENERYS [ANGERING]

These are my people. I am their queen.

JON

You were a queen already, Daenerys. But then you tossed down your honour to die beside me in the snow, and now you’re no kind of queen at all. No throne is ever going to change that.

DAENERYS recovers some of her composure. Her face softens and she takes a step towards JON.

DAENERYS

I’m so sorry for what I did. It was just one mistake, made in the heat of the moment. I would give anything to take it back, to set things right between us.

JON [UNCONVINCING]

It’s too late for that now.

DAENERYS

I still love you, Jon. I never stopped loving you. Please, Jon…give me another chance. Let me prove to you I’m not that person that flew away and left you. Let me prove to you I’m the person that made you believe I could be a good queen.

JON seems to be softening. He raises an icy blue hand to DAENERYS’ face and she closes her eyes in anticipation.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Let me be that queen.   

And just like that, the spell is broken. DAENERYS opens her eyes to find that JON has taken a step away from her.

JON

It’s a big world. Climb up on your dragon, and go find some small corner of it where there are no armies to command and no thrones to seize. Live out your days, unknown and unimportant, and never set foot in Westeros again. Go. Now. And don’t look back.

DAENERYS breaks JON’s gaze. She nods, turns away. She takes half a step towards Drogon…then stops. She looks longingly at the Iron Throne.

DAENERYS

I can’t do that, Jon. Not after I’ve come so far, not when I’m so close.

JON

Dany. You’ve never been further away.

DAENERYS turns to face him. She plants her feet and squares her shoulders in defiance.

DAENERYS

I won’t go.

JON

You’re not hearing me. The choice isn’t yours to make anymore.

DAENERYS’s eyes narrow. As though reading her mind, Drogon raises himself up behind her.

DAENERYS

My name is Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen. Breaker of chains. Mother of dragons. And the choice is always mine to make. Dracarys!

Drogon rears back and unleashes a blast of dragonfire that engulfs DAENERYS and JON both.

DAENERYS throws her head back and closes her eyes. Her hair catches fire, flares for a second, then dissolves. Her clothes burn away about her body. The blinding light absorbs her; the furnace heat envelops her. She smiles, bathing in the fire, luxuriating in the flames. Slowly, she opens her eyes, expecting to find a pile of ash where JON once stood.

Instead, a pair of frozen blue eyes stare back at her through the inferno. DAENERYS looks JON over in disbelief: his clothes and hair might have burned away, but otherwise he’s completely unharmed. He doesn’t so much as flinch beneath the unceasing onslaught of Drogon’s flames.  

JON

Fire cannot kill a dragon.

DAENERYS’s eyes double in size. She looks down at the knife JON has buried to the hilt in her stomach. She grabs onto him for support. She begins to fall and he takes her in his arms, easing her down to the floor. Drogon’s flame diminishes and dies.

S.E: dragon roar.

DAENERYS spends the last seconds of her life looking skyward – whether at JON, or Drogon, or both, it’s impossible to say – then closes her eyes forever.

10.20 INT: BRAN’S CHAMBERS – DAY

SANSA

Bran?! Bran?!

BRAN’s lips move, but make no sound. SANSA leans closer.

BRAN [WHISPERED]

Not. Today.

BRAN takes his last breath and dies in SANSA’s arms.

10.21 EXT: RUINS OF THE RED KEEP THRONE ROOM – DAY

Drogon lowers his head and sniffs at his mother’s body.

S.E: dragon roar.

Drogon rears up, baring his rows of razor-sharp teeth. JON holds out a placating hand. Drogon answers by lashing out and biting at the air only inches from JON’s face. JON searches for an escape, but finds none. He retreats in sync with Drogon’s advance, but there’s only so much ground and the dragon is pressing him hard into ever-tighter quarters.

10.22 EXT: RED KEEP GODSWOOD – DAY

In the Godswood of the Red Keep, the eyes carved into the trunk of the weirwood begin to weep.

10.23 EXT: RUINS OF THE RED KEEP THRONE ROOM – DAY

Drogon rears back. JON uselessly throws up his arms to protect himself…but the death blow never comes.

JON watches with furrowed brow as Drogon backs off, his eyes of melted gold disappeared beneath a dense white mist.

Drogon swings his head about to face the Iron Thone and unleashes a long, continuous blast of dragonfire. The thousand blades of Aegon the Conqueror wilt, bubble, and pool together as the Iron Throne melts into a shapeless mound of slag.

Drogon cuts off the flames and swings his head back towards JON. Tentatively, JON holds out a hand and strokes the passive dragon’s snout.

10.24 INT: TYRION’S CHAMBERS – WHITE HARBOUR – DAY

TYRION sits back in his chair. He closes the book and rests a hand on its leather binding. Standing, he walks to the open window and breathes in the salt air. Although his gaze comes to settle on the serene waters of White Harbour, it’s clear from his pinched expression that his mind is neither settled nor serene.  

10.25 EXT: RUINS OF THE RED KEEP THRONE ROOM – DAY

ARYA climbs the last of the stairs and steps out onto the floor of the throne room. The hulking mass of Drogon fills the space. ARYA steps carefully over his tail and moves stealthily to the dragon’s right flank. So delicate are her steps that their sound is disguised entirely beneath the steady rhythm of Drogon’s breathing. She draws Needle from its scabbard, and assumes an unfamiliar two-handed grip.

Close enough now to reach out and touch Drogon, ARYA draws her arms back, ready to strike…then she freezes.

Without turning her head, she watches Drogon’s nostrils flare at her scent. The dragon lifts his snout and sniffs the air, then twists his neck to look directly at her. Seeing her opportunity rushing past, ARYA points Needle like a lance, ready to lean all her bodyweight into a piercing charge at Drogon’s lung.

JON

Arya!

JON steps out from behind Drogon. The faded red cloak tied about his waist only serves to cast in greater ghoulish contrast the blue-white of his crystalline skin. For all her training, ARYA cannot prevent he face from betraying the shock and surprise…but she doesn’t take a backwards step.

ARYA

Jon.

JON

Not really. Not anymore.

ARYA lowers Needle. Still wary of Drogon despite his apparent ambivalence to her presence, she walks slowly towards JON at the dragon’s head. She reaches up a hand to touch his face, but he blocks her with his leather-covered forearm.

JON [CONT’D]

Don’t. I don’t know if it’s safe.

ARYA retracts her hand, but doesn’t flinch from a closer study of JON’s new appearance.  

ARYA

I was only just getting used to the idea of you being a Targaryen. Still a king, though, of a sort.

JON

Aye, of a sort.

ARYA

Can anything be done?

JON

I don’t think so. This is the way it had to be. The way it has to be.

ARYA [VOICE CRACKING]

Is this the last time I’m ever going to see you?

JON

Who can know? I never thought my day would end like this, but here we are.

JON [CONT’D; AFTER A PAUSE]

If you came to kill Daenerys, it’s already done. The queen is dead.

ARYA

That was my plan. Until Sansa came up with a better one.

ARYA steps towards DAENERYS’ body, sheathe Needle.

ARYA [CONT’D]

“Half the country is in flames, people are starving, nowhere is safe…

SANSA [V.O.]

…and if someone doesn’t take charge now to put the pieces back together, things are only going to get worse.

ARYA

Someone with a fearsome reputation and a cast-iron claim to the throne.”

She watches Drogon for any signs of protest, but the dragon doesn’t so much as blink his mist-covered eyes. ARYA crouches over DAENERYS’ body.

JON

What are you doing?

ARYA

The queen is dead…

S.E: Arya draws her dagger.

ARYA [CONT’D]

Long live the queen.

10.26 INT: DAENERYS’S CHAMBERS – DAY

DAENERYS stands before a floor-length mirror, wearing an elaborate gown of gold and red, her hair uncharacteristically pinned in the Northern style. She studies her face in the glass. TYRION stands at the dresser pouring two cups of wine.

DAENERYS

Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?

TYRION

I am.

DAENERYS

Where’s Sansa? Why isn’t she here?

TYRION

Lady Stark is greeting your guests in the council room, as we agreed.

DAENERYS

And you don’t think it’s too soon?

TYRION

This bold new world of yours has held together for seven years now…excepting a rebellious lord or two. But it’s impossible to know how firmly the roots of representative government have taken hold until we remove the shadow of the dragon and wait to see what can grow in the sun.

DAENERYS

You only get poetic when you’ve been drinking. You’re more nervous than I am.

TYRION

Today we bring down the curtain on three-hundred years of kings and queens and hereditary rule and, for the first time in the known history of the world, peacefully pass all the powers of state into the hands of the common folk. I’d say a few last-minute nerves are perfectly understandable, as is a cup of wine or three to calm them.

TYRION brings DAENERYS one of the cups and they retire to seats by the window. Beyond, the rebuilt King’s Landing bakes in the afternoon sun. 

DAENERYS

When I settled on seven years for the transition, I never imagined it would feel more like seventy. I’ve felt less like the first among equals than I have a septa charged with a houseful of squabbling children. I’d rather jump from the top of Old Town’s lighthouse than preside over another vote as contentious as the last. Who knew the size and placement of public benches was such an inflammatory issue?

TYRION

To freedom, then.

They raise their cups in toast.

DAENERYS

You’ll have plenty of time for wine now you’re retired, although I hope you have something more substantial planned. Perhaps you could take a wife, father a couple of children. Casterley Rock needs an heir, after all.

DAENERYS raises an eyebrow, smiles slyly.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

The Lady Sansa is still unwed…

TYRION

I think we both know I am no favourite of hers. She has never truly forgiven me for keeping your confidence regarding Jon Snow’s true parentage.

DAENERYS

I must admit, her persistent lack of trust for you has been as frustrating as her constant counsel has been invaluable.  

TYRION

It certainly has been gratifying to see the bond the two of you have forged. It’s hard to imagine now, but that day we departed Winterfell I was convinced that war between your two houses was inevitable.

DAENERYS

That was a trying time, for all of us. We both said some things we shouldn’t have, but that’s ancient history now. She has never given me cause to doubt our friendship since. Her loyalty has been unwavering.

TYRION

Which makes it all the more confounding that she should still resent me for reaffirming my own all those years ago.

DAENERYS

Distrust can be a difficult habit to break, I suppose.

TYRION watches DAENERYS as she raises her let hand and sips from her cup, clearly very much aware of his attention and feeling decidedly awkward under it.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

It’s past time we were going, is it not?

TYRION puts aside his cup and assumes a more serious expression.

TYRION

Your Grace, before we do depart, I wanted to say something I’ve been meaning to say for a very long time. My father once told me never to expect gratitude, that only jugglers and singers require applause. But, as in so much else, my father was wrong: we owe people thanks for the good they do in this world. What you’ve done, what you’ve given up… truly selfless acts are a rare thing, and they deserve to be recognised.

DAENERYS

You can’t give up what you never really had.

TYRION

I’m not talking about the Iron Throne. I’m talking about giving seven years of your life to this country. When a thousand different forces were pulling it apart, you held it together with a tireless will and an unflinching eye for justice. You salvaged Westeros from the brink of utter collapse and held its hand into an age of unprecedented peace and prosperity. You built a legacy that will outlast us all, while the big wide world waited for you just beyond its waters. Yours has been a sacrifice worthy of a true Queen. The history books won’t acknowledge it, all but a handful of people won’t appreciate it, and fewer still will ever understand it, but know that every single soul in the Seven Kingdoms owes you a debt that can never properly be paid. It seems scant reward that only now can you escape this gilded cage and let your heart lead you where it may, wild and free and untamed…like a wolf.

Seeing TYRION’s conspiratorial smirk, DAENERYS leans back in her chair and smiles.

DAENERYS

You’re too clever for your own good. Something else your father once said.

TYRION

How curious: I never knew you had the pleasure…

S.E: approaching footsteps.

GILLY

Forgive me Your Grace, my Lord Hand. You asked me to let you know when it was time.

DAENERYS

Thank you, Gilly.

S.E: retreating footsteps.

DAENERYS stands and offers TYRION her arm.

DAENERYS

Shall we?

TYRION drains his cup, stands, spots DAENERYS’ unfinished cup, drains that, ignores her scowl of disapproval, then takes her arm in his.

TYRION

Let’s.

10.27 EXT: PUBLIC GARDENS – DAY

On the site of the old Dragonpit, a new royal residence has been erected. Built of simple stone and without ostentation in design, it is neither kingly palace nor fortified castle. The approach is landscaped with lush green lawns and flower beds bursting with colour. Emerging from the residence, DAENERYS and TYRION walk the path between two enormous water-pools, parties of small children playing in the spray from fountains carved in abstract shapes. They abandon the water at the sight of DAENERYS and crowd about her excitedly.

TYRION

Your people love you, Your Grace.

DAENERYS [LAUGHING]

Perhaps. Or perhaps no one ever really tires of seeing a dragon.

The children tilt back their heads and gawp as Drogon descends from the sky and settles on the wide expanse of grass at the edge of the estate. They stand at a respectful distance and watch DAENERYS approach her dragon.

TYRION

I will meet you there, Your Grace.

DAENERYS

No, you won’t. Not this time. This will likely be the last chance you ever have to actually ride a dragon. Are you really going to let it pass you by?

TYRION takes a few cautious steps forward, conscious of the prods and giggles shared amongst the children. DAENERYS climbs atop Drogon’s back and reaches down to help him clamber up behind her.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Hold on tight.

TYRION

I’m not sure it would be proper for me to –

Drogon lurches to his feet and TYRION quickly wraps his arms around DAENERYS’ waist, his concerns about proper etiquette forgotten.

DAENERYS

Valahd!

Drogon takes two lunging steps and launches himself into the sky.

10.28 EXT: SKIES ABOVE KING’S LANDING – DAY

Soaring high above the clouds, the sky a perfect blue, TYRION gradually summons the courage to first open one eye, then the other, then tentatively relax his tensed muscles and actually enjoy the experience he spent so much of his childhood imagining.

BRAN [V.O.]

Do you remember when you gave me the plans for the custom saddle? So that I might ride a horse without use of my legs? “I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things.” Your words were a small cruelty, your gift a great kindness…one I fully intend on repaying one day.

His heart in his throat, his eyes shiny with tears, TYRION LANNISTER rides a dragon.

10.29 EXT: THE RED KEEP – DAY

The rubble has been cleared but the Red Keep has not been rebuilt. The throne room stands much as it did: a platform open to the sky, supported by a single column, but now accessed via a grand spiral staircase of wrought iron.

It seems as though every citizen of the city has gathered around its base, all faces upturned and watching the skies expectantly.

The throne room itself is also packed with people, a patchwork of banners belonging to a hundred or more houses fluttering together in the breeze. The attendees are arranged on either side of a central aisle, at the end of which now stands, in the place previously occupied by the Iron Throne, a semi-circular wooden table and eight seats.

As below, every pair of eyes is trained on the cloudless sky, including those of a small group standing slightly apart from the crowd.

TORMUND

You should be proud, Lady Stark. People don’t like to let the old ways go. If someone tries to show them something better they just cling on even tighter. I know that better than most: it took Mance Rayder twenty years to convince his people to all pull in the same direction. You did it seven.

SANSA

Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. After hundreds of years, highborn rule seems almost as natural as the turning of the seasons. It will take a lot of unlearning for people to accept how easily we can live without it. That’s every bit as true for the ruled as it is for the rulers.

VARYS

He’s right, you know. There’s a reason people are calling you Westeros’ mother wolf.

SANSA

Nobody calls me that. And if they ever do I command you to make them stop.

VARYS

You convinced the great houses of Westeros to share their power for the common good, which was impressive, but then you convinced them to relinquish those powers entirely, which was impossible. I’ve followed you back and forth across this country countless times; at one time or another I’ve seen you bribe, beg, badger, and outright threaten every lord and lady in Westeros. You were the thread that held this all together, my Lady.

SANSA

If I was the thread, what does that make our Queen?

S.E: dragon roar; cheers.

Drogon makes his approach, circling the tower to the delight of the populace below, and lands elegantly at the edge of the crowd.  DAENERYS and TYRION disembark and make their way through the throng, DAENERYS smiling and touching hands with the ecstatic commonfolk as she goes. Reaching the spiral staircase, DAENERYS waves to the people then ascends with TYRION by her side.

At the top, DAVOS and PODRICK are waiting to greet them. DAVOS has dressed in a manner befitting the Master of Ships, but the old smuggler is entirely outdone by the young knight. PODRICK gleams in hand-crafted armour and an immaculate white cloak, Oathkeeper on his hip.

TYRION

You’re looking very smart, Pod.

DAVOS [TO TYRION]

You’re looking very smart, Lord Commander.

TYRION

I did it again, didn’t I? Please accept my sincerest apologies, Lord Commander. Old habits, old minds…

PODRICK [SMILING]

No apology necessary, my Lord. I’m still getting used to it myself.

SANSA

Your Grace. You look beautiful.

DAENERYS and SANSA embrace.

DAENERYS [SOTTO VOCE]

This is the last dress I’ll ever wear, I swear it.

TYRION

Lord Varys, you’re looking well. The northern climate seems to agree with you.

VARYS

After today you shan’t have any excuses not to visit Winterfell again, my Lord Hand.

TYRION

After today I shan’t be Lord Hand.

VARYS

Then you’re all the more welcome, old friend.

TYRION smiles and nods gratefully. He and VARYS follow as SANSA leads DAENERYS up the aisle and along the line of well-wishers.

SANSA

Tormund of House Heavyfoot, Your Grace.

TORMUND

Not as fierce as “Giantsbane”, but I do like the banners. White for the snow of the North, red for the fire that kissed me.

TORMUND looks proudly at the heavy cloth hanging from the pole carried by his standard-bearer. DAENERYS holds up the end so she can see the sigil: a line of blue elephants on a red and white per bend.

DAENERYS

And the elephants that gave your house its name. A wonderful sigil, my Lord.

TORMUND beams proudly, then suddenly looks anxious.

TORMUND [SOTTO VOCE]

You’re not expecting me to kneel, are you?

DAENERYS [CONSPIRATORIALLY]

You’ve kept the Queen’s peace? No raiding? No pillaging?

TORMUND’s mischievous look is less than convincing, but he smiles a toothy grin and shakes his head. DAENERYS smiles indulgently.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Then I think we can forego the formalities one last time. Thank you for being here.

SANSA

Lord Gendry of House Baratheon, Your Grace.

GENDRY looks resplendent in gold and brown, a rosy-cheeked young woman on his arm and a little girl clinging to his leg. DAENERYS’ smile doubles in size.

DAENERYS

Lord Baratheon.

GENDRY

Your Grace. I’d like to introduce my wife: Merys.

DAENERYS’ smile settles into something sadder as she accepts MERYS BARATHEON’s curtsey.

MERYS

Your Grace.

GENDRY

And our daughter. Arya.

DAENERYS smiles, clearly more touched than GENDRY would ever have expected. She crouches down to the little girl’s level.

DAENERYS

Arya. That’s a pretty name. I used to know an Arya.

ARYA hides behind her father’s cloak.

GENDRY

Apologies, Your Grace. She’s a shy one, like her mother.

DAENERYS

No apologies necessary. Thank you for coming, my Lady…my Lord.

SANSA

Lord Beric of House Dondarrion, Your Grace.

BERIC

Your Grace.

DAENERYS

Lord Dondarrion, you’re looking well.

BERIC

You’re too kind, Your Grace. In truth, I’ve felt myself growing ever more disturbed the closer this day drew.

DAENERYS

Go on.

BERIC

If you’ll forgive my presumption, Your Grace, I implore you to reconsider. We still have need of your leadership and your strength…and your dragon.

DANERYS

You flatter me, my Lord. And my dragon.

BERIC

It has been seven years since the Night King was vanquished, but I do not believe his evil was ever truly defeated.

SANSA and DAENERYS exchange a wary glance.

DAENERYS

What makes you think that?

BERIC [SADLY, DESPERATELY]

Because I’m still here. The Lord of Light brought me back six times. I ranged beyond the Wall. I made it through the Longest Night. I survived the Battle of King’s Landing. What other reason could explain why I’m still here, when so many good men aren’t, other than the Lord of Light still has need of me yet?

DAENERYS [SMILING, REASSURING]

The world cannot always be ending, Lord Beric. Perhaps the Lord of Light has a humbler use for you in mind. A wealthy man with a kind heart and the best of intentions can do a great deal of good in the lives of those less fortunate.

TYRION

See me after the ceremony, my Lord. I shall make it my last official act of office to introduce you to the organisers of the crown’s public alms initiatives.

BERIC

Thank you, Your Grace. My Lord.

DAENERYS [GRINNING BROADLY]

Lady Greyjoy. I thought I spied your ship in the harbour. How fair the Iron Islands?

YARA

Wind-swept and shit-stained as ever, no doubt. It’s a while since I’ve been back.

DAENERYS

Off chasing adventure?

YARA

Something like that, Your Grace.

DAENERYS

Caught any?

YARA [PRACTICALLY WINKING]

One or two.

DAENERYS

Well, I appreciate you putting them on hold to be with us today.

DAENERYS leaves the others behind and walks out in front of the assembly. Turning to make her address, she fails to notice a familiar face among the crowd: MISSANDEI, watching with a half-smile.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Seven years ago we fought a war for the dawn against an enemy that knew no compromise, no mercy, no fear. We fought against death itself, and we won. Our victory was not without loss: we know the names of the few: Theon Greyjoy; Samwell Tarly; Eddison Tollett; Qhono of the Dothraki; Lady Lyanna Mormont; Ser Jaime Lannister; Ser Sandor Clegane; Ser Jorah Mormont; Brandon Stark; Arya Stark; Jon Stark. But we must never forget the many, the men and women that died in war, so that we might live in peace. Northmen; Unsullied; Dothraki; freedmen; Freefolk…they set aside their prejudices, their animosities, their differences in creed and colour and cultures, and they came together in the name of the greater good. For the last seven years, theirs is the example we have strived to emulate. Seven Kingdoms, but one country. Seven Kingdoms, but one people.

DAENERYS finds SANSA in the crowd and smiles.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Because after all, when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

DAENERYS turns and walks along the arc of the wooden table, trailing her fingers along its surface. Into the headrest of each chair is carved the name of a different region of Westeros, and into each backrest a carving of the sigils belonging to their greater houses.  

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

From the day of my coronation, I have shared the responsibilities of rule with the Great Council, on which each of the Seven Kingdoms is represented, and in which each of the Seven Kingdoms has an equal voice. From the molten remains of the Iron Throne, I had fashioned the staircase you all climbed today, so that any man or woman of Westeros – whether rich or poor, highborn or low – might attend and bear witness to the decisions that affect all of our lives. I commissioned the building of this great table to take the Iron Throne’s place as the seat of power in Westeros, but the day I hired the carpenters was also the day I committed to one day surrendering their work to the same fires that consumed the thousand blades of Aegon The Conqueror. That day has finally arrived. Today, the “Royal Palace” becomes the “People’s Palace”. Today, the men and women that the citizens of Westeros have elected to represent them will sit in congress there for the first time. Today, we inaugurate a new dynasty not of rule by might, but of governance by consent. Today, I sentence this table to join all the thrones and conquerors of the past, in the pages of our history books.

DAENERYS looks to Drogon and the two halves of the crowd quickly shuffle further part to allow the dragon to approach.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Dracarys!

Drogon’s fire engulfs the table. The crowd leans away from the heat, DAENERYS herself noticeably flinching away from the flames.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Today we start a new book, and for the first time the words within will come from the people themselves. Now, and forever, they are the authors of their own story.

S.E: cheering.

DAENERYS climbs onto Drogon’s back. She shares a last look with TYRION, and then another with SANSA.

DAENERYS [CONT’D]

Valahd!

DAENERYS and her dragon fly over and beyond King’s Landing and away across the waters of Blackwater Bay.

10.30 EXT: NARROW SEA – DAY

The Iron Fleet has the wind in its sails as it follows in the wake of YARA’s flagship, the bow beneath the crowned kraken figurehead knifing through the open waters. The shores of the Crownlands have slipped away over the horizon, the shallows of Westeros’ coast given way to the blue-black fathoms of the Narrow Sea.

10.31 INT: CABIN OF THE IRON FLEET’S FLAGSHIP – DAY

In her cabin, YARA stands over a map of the known world. Wither her fingers she traces a course south from the Free Cities, around the coast of Dorne, and continuing westward off the edge of the map. YARA stabs at the table with her finger and smiles.

S.E: knocking.

YARA

Come.

TANNER

Captain! There’s something you should see.

10.32 EXT: DECK OF THE IRON FLEET’S FLAGSHIP – DAY

The crowd gathered at the bow move aside to allow YARA through. She finds herself looking at a bare and weather-worn outcrop poking above the waves. As they near, YARA realises there’s someone standing atop the rocks.

TANNER

Who is that, Captain?

YARA grins.

YARA

Just a dead girl I used to know.

With folded arms and Needle at her hip, wearing once again her comfortable old leathers, ARYA STARK waits for YARA’s ship to draw alongside.

10.33 EXT: KINGSROAD, APPROACHING WINTERFELL – DAY

SANSA and VARYS ride at the head of a snaking procession of Stark soldiers stretching along the King’s Road. Mounted on the horizon, the reassuring sight of the rebuilt Winterfell.

10.34 EXT: BENEATH THE GATES OF WINTERFELL – DAY

The commonfolk gather at either side of the road to watch as SANSA pulls away from the rest of her party and rides the final approach alone. The gates creak open and the CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD walks out to meet her.

CAPTAIN

Welcome home, Lady Stark.

Nodding her thanks, the Lady of Winterfell allows her formal reserve to slip for just a second and a broad, joyful grin to spread across her face. SANSA STARK rides through the gates of Winterfell.

10.35 EXT: SKIES SOMEWHERE ABOVE WESTEROS - DAY

Drogon soars through the sky somewhere over the Seven Kingdoms. Revelling in the freedom of flying without a rider, Drogon indulges in a spontaneous series of tight spins and long, luxurious loops. The fields of Westeros hurry up to meet him as he arrows his way downwards, then rush past beneath his belly as he extends his wings and simply glides. If dragons had expressive faces, Drogon’s would make his happiness plain. Even the white mist that covers both his eyes cannot disguise his obvious delight. 

BRAN [V.O.]

You’re the Three-Eyed Raven. You’re going to help me walk again

THREE-EYED RAVEN [V.O.]

You’ll never walk again, Brandon Stark. But you will fly.

Drogon flaps his wings and bends his course northwards.

10.36 EXT: THE LAND OF ALWAYS WINTER

The palace of ice stands stark against the horizon, while on the great plateau a familiar figure stalks across the frozen ground. Ghost stops in his tracks and sniffs the air. Half a second later, Drogon flies free of the mountain range and soars over the direwolf’s head towards the palace. Ghost turns and bolts after him.

10.37 INT: PALACE OF ICE

Ghost runs through the open doors and across the vast open space of the palace interior. The columns are now all of a level, except for those at the far end of the chamber, which steadily rise in steps to form a large platform. Ghost runs past the semi-circle of black candles - a single candle still burning - and takes the steps two at a time.

At the top: a great throne of ice. Sitting atop the throne: JON SNOW, the Night King.

Ghost circles the throne then sits down on JON’s left. JON places a hand of opaque crystal on Ghost’s head, watches as Drogon descends through the open roof.

The dragon lands at the base of the steps and coils himself around the back of the throne. Jon places his other hand on Dragon’s snout, and retrains his gaze on the two rows of candles.

He watches the single flame burning in their middle, his eyes unblinking, his vigilance unfaltering, his patience eternal.

Suddenly, a second candle comes alive and sends up a fierce blue fire, burning defiantly against the icy arctic winds.

S.E: dragon roar; direwolf howl.

OUTRO